Guilt is
a ball of napalm inside of a Jack-o-lantern on a crisp, Halloween night
Eating...
No, evaporating to the very core
Staunch in justice
Gutting and painting a canvas called 'My Town', with my insides out
like some backward fashion statement
Daily motions drip like the juice of the departed
A heart that aches in longing, yet repels in slow motion
It feels like salt sweat fingertips caressing a shredded carpet burn
Shards of glass raking against an invisible curtain of morality
For a while, I felt nothing
A flatline on an ECG in a room that echos the rhythm of sin
louder than any church choir
I still suspect there is a cavern withholding droplets of disgust
for a disaster of my own making
A spiked punch, perched with poison I carried in a flask
for far too long
I always had it in me...
Then again, so did you-
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